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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001599">The very last deal of the rest of their lives</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHoleInSpace/pseuds/BlackHoleInSpace'>BlackHoleInSpace</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monthly Good Omens Amino prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Get Married, Heavy Angst, Holy Water, How Do I Tag, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, but how do I add footnotes, go to hell typos, honestly can they married if they've not even started a relationship??, nvm I figured out how to tag, ranting for mild swearing, the answer is yes, they're the ineffable husbands after all ffs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:27:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25001599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHoleInSpace/pseuds/BlackHoleInSpace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This month's Amino prompt- <em> "Would you like to make a deal?"</em></p><p>There's an angel, there's a demon and there's a deal made in this cruel world all beings inhabit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monthly Good Omens Amino prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The very last deal of the rest of their lives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello!<br/>This is my first time posting on this site, so I mightn't be aware of some things' functioning.</p><p>On that note, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No day had ever been that sunny and warm to the heart.</p><p>Weather does import to a good deal of people. Of course, one must always be in the possession of plans worth more and further concern than rather plain weather matters. One does tend to pay very little attention to meteorological environment changes until they turn out to be grave and worrying. Neither is one born with the perk in the routine where one constantly checks the news in the desperate need of updating their mind on the latest or current weather facts. This could be labelled a challenge, a habit waiting to be taken into one's life. It is, however, frightfully important for one not to attempt making a living out of constantly updating themselves on weather matters. A fair warning, yet <em>usqueaddiemtempestatibusmania</em>[1] was positively starting to become a thing amidst both youngest and oldest generations.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[1]The word was, as fairly obvious, not a thing. Most probably one of those forgotten of Crowley's wiles that somehow didn't backfire at him or the result of Aziraphale having found a brand new book that he hadn't read as of yet... Somehow. But how can one ever know what is accurate and what is not with those unimaginably complicated scientific names given to newly discovered artefacts every next second?</p>
</blockquote>But on the other hand, how could one completely ignore those particular happenings in one's everyday environment until the world is to end? How could one pay no attention whatsoever to those juicily sunny and wonderfully hot summers, when children of all ages would play where the sun lies its rays the most before quickly running back into the shade, complaining about just how high the temperatures were? Those crispy and mildly cool autumns, when adults would forget for just how long they'd been around and what horrors their eyes had witnessed and would jump around after the happy youth, chasing leaves as they fall down from the colourful trees? Those unimaginably freezing yet cheerful winters, during which countless amounts of children would slide down snowy hills on their sleighs before proceeding with a bickerish argument as to whoever was going to pull the chairlike object back up? And those incoherent springs with these moody weather changes whilst one second children are out playing and the other they are cuddling one another by the fire, a mug of hot cocoa in hand?<p>How could one dare ignore the power of the rain and its droplets shining with multicoloured, sea blue hues? The inhumanly strong force of the wind, tornadoes and suchlike? The strength of the sun, burning one's sanity out on the hottest of days? And the peace, oh the euphoric peace after an absolutely discordant storm?</p><p>In other words, weather must always hold a certain place in one's life, but mustn't be found more important than life matters supporting one's existence and keeping one alive, for the instance, hot cocoa, peace and unlimited amounts of books that'd not seen the sunlight for the past few decades and practically begged to be taken out and read.</p><p>The current meteorological state of the matter of existence, however, was positively pleasing, both aesthetically and convenience-wise, yet was it to change any drastically, the people surrounded by it would be indubitably twice angrier and more unsettled than they already were. Not many times had the world been on such cold, thin ice, stability threatening to be blown at any given second. As per usual, the sky appeared rather gloom, gray clouds threatening to cover it whole, yet from place to place tiny but ever so visible gaps surfaced. And once a sun's ray managed to make its brief appearance through one, a thin string of blinding, pinkening light would enlighten a singular spot on the Earth as if God Herself had decided to grant a blessing to a particular piece of the concrete pavement. Whereas the occuring slight moody changes did tend to be rather unsettling, the surroundings looked in fact positively heavenly... No, not even Heaven possessed such splendid beauty. Heaven was empty, dull and <em>threateningly white</em>, as were the souls of almost all inhabitants of the bleak place. The view, on the other hand, was an absolute spectacle to the naked eye.</p><p>Despite the ostensible calm it was raining well enough to either announce a wondrous and colourful rainbow or a suddenly and unexpectedly raging storm.</p><p>Yet, truthfully, absolutely no unfortunate turn of weather could beat the thunderstorm of emotions occuring in those two particular hearts, located somewhere in the district of Soho, London and raging with a furiously gigantic flame of respectfully Eternal and Hell fire.</p><p>No day had ever beheld such a ravenous force of wind and downpour. No tornado had ever blown with that much voraciousness. No polar night had ever shone that bright and colourful. And certainly no heater had ever been switched on to the extent of creating such a sandstorm of high temperature ever before.</p><p>"I cannot <em>believe</em> you would ever dare insinuate such a thought! What audacity do you have at times!" a soft yet rather annoyed voice could be heard inside of the antique bookshop located in the corner of the londonian district. Its owner was angry, clearly, but there was a hint of something entirely different behind it. Something deeper, fear, perhaps even some regret of being unable to word certain things in particular. Things that could make the situation better a good deal.</p><p>"I frankly had never believed you would ask that ever again, I thought we had this settled," the firm tone broke down ever so slightly, shattering the ostensible anger for a fraction of a second. But what with having to keep up a convincing angered demeanour, it instantly forsook the sudden emotionality and returned to its starting point, "We <em>can't</em> just leave![2]"</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[2]Not even God Herself could seem to fathom for whatever reason they had started such a heated and full-blown argument over such a simple matter.</p>
</blockquote>"Our own side, remember? <em>That's</em> what we decided last time I checked, innit?" a second, rather distinctive voice offered an answer in an equally hot-tempered manner, appearing to attempt convincing its owner's counterpart to change their mind on whatever topic was being argued over, "Heaven and Hell have been made well aware of what they'd be dealing with for messing with us, angel. They won't try anything too courageous for a certain time unless they come up with something that could be called an actual idea!" the voice stopped for a second or so, followed by a deep breath being taken, "Either way, their rules do no longer apply to us! They could try, but they care too much about reputation to go any far with anything."<p>The first voice huffed in anger.</p><p>"No, Crowley, the fact that we've managed to outsmart our past respective sides is one, but it does not imply we have been eliminated from the tip of their crosshair! They may not try anything spontaneous, but dear boy, they will invent something coherent as time flows by," the voice hesitated before proceeding further with rather undeliberately revealed doubt, "And as far as I know Heaven, they are capable of a lot with just a bit of determination!"</p><p>"And what the <em>deuce</em> would that be?" the demon Crowley, owner of the second voice, asked in disbelief, "They already know Hellfire and Holy Water won't make any difference, therefore they're not gonna risk a use of it. Nothing else can destroy a celestial being, and since we've gone native in their eyes, what is there left for them to try?"</p><p>"I- I do not know, dear boy, but they're Heaven and Hell. What if they do attempt the same trick on us again, we mightn't be prepared for that!" his counterpart, the angel Aziraphale, owner of the first voice, exclaimed in a mix of despair and frustration. What an awful image had his mind just come up with! Never would he dare wish for such a fate for... For that one being he cared the most about in the entire universe and beyond, "And they won't hesitate to- <em>to destroy you completely!</em>"</p><p>"They won't <em>dare</em> to!" Crowley half snarled, half hissed, taking a few steadfast steps towards the angel before him like a snake after having spotted a prey worth its attention. He was determined to prove his point or, if having nothing to prove, keep Aziraphale away from what he'd already been painfully made aware of.</p><p>"They <em>will!</em>" the angel in question retorted, lament dripping from his voice, "They will, and they'll attempt destroying you again! Agnes Nutter's book of prophecies has come to an end months ago, how are we going to be aware of what time they choose to strike at? We won't!"</p><p>"Is that what you're scared of, angel?" the demon's voice softened suddenly, a new tone spontaneously interflowing and chasing the previous one. Perhaps they could settle this down nicely, after all.</p><p>Upon receiving no audible answer from the angel other than a soft grunt and a look away, he continued.</p><p>"You see! That's why running away will not only not be much of a big deal to Earth itself, but also it'll take us further away from those bloody bastards," Crowley explained, vividly gesticulating over his head, face lit up despite still having his dark sunglasses on. His amber gaze fell back on the being that was supposed to have been his dearest nemesis those past decades. Only then did he notice the change of atmosphere on that usually soft face, "Angel...?"</p><p>The usually calm and patient being snapped.</p><p>"No! <em>Absolutely</em> out of the question!" this cry could break even the coldest and most distant hearts of stone. And so did it do with the demon's, "Don't you see? I don't want to leave Earth! We've spent six thousand years here, we've grown attached to it, isn't that why we averted The End Of Times? To stay on Earth, to which we'd grown accustomed to? Don't pretend you don't care about it. The Bentley is a human invention, if it hadn't been created by them, you wouldn't have ever had it! Why do you want to leave so badly?!"</p><p>"Because they'll bloody find us, they warned me, for God's- Satan's- argh, for Somebody's sake!" Crowley roared in answer, practically tearing handfuls of fiery red hair from his head, "They'll come, they'll get us, they'll take you! They'll take away my ange- my best wine source!" that was a deliberate correction[3] of a wholeheartedly accidental blurt out.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[3]A dumb cover up it was, really.</p>
</blockquote>"Well, your '<em>best wine source</em>' would quite like to spend those potentially last days here, on Earth. I couldn't possibly-" Aziraphale suddenly sounded as if he were choking. '<em>I resent deep appreciation towards you, as human as that sounds,</em>' he wanted to say, fervently and surely. '<em>I want to come with you more than anything, but I fear for your safety,</em>' he attempted at breathing out, but he couldn't. '<em>If those are our last days on this wonderful planet, I want to spend every second with you, but oh dear, that'd destroy you,</em>' "I couldn't possibly let such a drastic change happen if I am to- to go. And you--"<p>The demon snorted with anything but amusement, rather with pure sarcasm.</p><p>"Oh, so <em>I'm</em> your problem here now, huh? Am I bothering you to that extent?" Crowley didn't permit the angel to finish whatever sentence he was attempting to form, whatever he wished to try wording, "Do you really dislike me that much, angel?!" not that he cared in any way, to be clear. No, of course he didn't, all was just a sole game of words, a useless playdate.</p><p>"Whyever would you insinuate that, dear boy?" a very audible gasp was uttered by the demon's surprised angel counterpart as his hand travelled upwards to cover his parted lips, "No, Heaven no! I daren't ever--!"</p><p>"The why so fucking angry?!" the ethereal being in question took a few barely noticeable steps backwards as truthful surprise painted itself on his features on maximal brush size, shaping and shifting into different, mostly incoherent expressions and emotions, "What the <em>fuck</em> got your knickers in such a twist?!"</p><p>Aziraphale gave a soft and light yet deep and exasperated sigh.</p><p>"Because they've sworn they'll destroy you!" he cried out, hands turning right into fists in a spontaneous instance, "They'll destroy you, you'll be gone, gone forever!" the clenched fists relaxed back into soft, visibly trembling hands.</p><p>The demon raged out like Hellfire of pure instinct: "I don't give a blessed <em>shit</em> about that!"</p><p>"But I do," came a soft, quiet answer.</p><p>The tension had seemed to lower progressively, well, thus did it appear in the demon's shielded amber eyes. He took a brief yet precise look at his best friend. The angel had certainly appeared to have relaxed quite a remarkable bit. His shoulders were slouched down ever so slightly, his chest was rising upwards slowly before taking its time to gently fall downwards and his overall composure did look much less tense and stressed than just a few brief seconds ago. And <em>perhaps</em> the demon perceived an opportunity somewhere in all this mess, a light that he could reach out for and grab before directing the angel in the direction he had built and believed to be correct.[4]</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[4]And perhaps he quite oughtn't have, truly.</p>
</blockquote>"Listen, angel, they can't actually destroy me, destroy either of us if we run away," Crowley attempted a soft tone, slowly approaching the trembling angel now standing mere inches away from. He reached a hand out, as if attempting to communicate peace to the other mind, to assure it all was well and will be so further on, too. It was a tiny gesture, really, it couldn't possibly mean any much, could it? A tiny move, another toy in the playdate...<p>A temptation, that is all it had become in Aziraphale's cobalt blue, tear struck eyes.</p><p>"No, this is exactly how they'll do it!" said angel answered, the angered note promptly withdrawing from nonexistence and returning to his voice, "That is just how they will find us, destroy you, if they don't even do that before, oh <em>dear!</em>" there was lament, there was fear, there was regret of not being capable of aborting the words that had been said, averting horrendous events that would be to come their way.</p><p>An exasperated and waspish sigh could be heard from the red headed demon.</p><p>"A'ight, now I fear we are talking at cross purposes![5]" he uttered a frustrated snarl, serpentine tongue expertly curling around each word and thin, snakelike pupils dilating further than ever in anger, discomfort and the feeling of having lost something that was yet to be done so.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[5]Only then had She started comprehending what both sides had come up with. And not even Her unlimited omnipotence could restrain events from rolling the way they'd been long foreordained to.</p>
</blockquote>"I am afraid we quite are, <em>indeed</em>," what with having entered such a heated argument and having partly lost the capability to think clearly and thoroughly, the angel did not quite comprehend the affirmation in the best way possible, one could even give speculating which painful memory exactly it moved a brief try.<p>Oh Heaven no. No, no, no, <em>no.</em> No, he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't possibly let his precious, his dearest Aziraphale think- believe that he didn't care. He shouldn't care, quite, and heavenly propaganda of six thousand years must have done its job on the angel, but he couldn't let him keep this belief. The last thing he wanted was losing the one utmost source of cherishment in his existence, and as a demon he surely oughtn't feel so, let alone do so, but one's heart and soul, blind and foolishly lovestruck, are none and definitely not one's most faithful servant. Definitely not in the case of complete and utterly childish <em>besottment</em> and-- Wait, no. Demon, after all. Just spontaneous and barely noticeable appreciation, that- is all.</p><p>He surfaced.</p><p>"Wait, <em>no</em>!" he didn't like the sound of his voice, this vulnerable little cry of a prey soon to be caught with no escape, trapped in a point of no return, but right now, he couldn't care less. Bless demonicity, he'd tell himself. Perhaps they just were both a tad bipolar, to a barely noticeable extent. Just right enough, "No, angel, not like that! Just- urgh, just-!"</p><p>"Just what, dear boy?" that was one mortifyingly ice-laced voice for the angel, one ought to have admitted. And what had followed it.</p><p>
  <em>A lace of cold, Siberian wind.</em>
</p><p>"Like- like- well, um, just like-"</p><p>
  <em>A stammer malignantly put on repeat by existence itself.</em>
</p><p>"Ah, I see then," the angel felt his tone was as dry as his throat had become by far, much drier than the Sahara desert at full sun, "So all of this is just another of your demonic wiles?"</p><p>
  <em>A newly established gap in trust.</em>
</p><p>"Angel, <em>no</em>, I-"</p><p>
  <em>And two quickly shattered hearts.</em>
</p><p>"I'm afraid I do not quite see any reason of discussing the matter any further," Aziraphale's voice was stern right now, at this very moment. It is, in that case, frightfully important for one to comprehend the use of a term of explicit moment stating at the given time. As unbeknownst to the vast majority, saying that one had been feeling rather courageous now would slyly imply that there had been this particular figment of a moment when courage had indeed blossomed inside of one's heart and soul, provided, of course, that it was actual backbone to a certain action one had felt instead of utterly human stupidity. It wouldn't suggest any more, thus is present tense used for further reference in next steps of the given matter. Anything in the lines of '<em>one will be feeling courageous now</em>', however, had one job and one only.</p><p>"<em>But--</em>" that, on the other hand, was a singular conjunction and had no implicit or unexplained, hidden meaning whatsoever.</p><p>"The case is settled, then," the angel whose hair resembled the softest clouds in the sky during spring continued, his tone much firmer and deprived of more emotions than he actually felt, "We mustn't encounter one another ever again."</p><p>'<em>Do you really no longer wish to see me, angel?</em>' Crowley's whole self desired to ask, right before he could storm off and break down.</p><p>'<em>That is the last of my wishes, no, Heavens, I daren't even make it one of them.</em>' the angel would like to have responded before closing the gap between the both of them and hugging his beloved demon senseless.</p><p>"Oh, right-o," the demon deadpanned instead before his face spontaneously took the colour of light puce, devoid of any coherent, positive emotions, "Right. Alright. <em>Great.</em>" he proceeded to speak repeatedly, a tart snarl following each word.</p><p>Forthwith did he petulantly approach Aziraphale with a swagger much wider than commonly needed in his demonic morals.</p><p>"Alright then, angel, how 'bout a deal? I stay away from you for the next three days but then you'll have to come to my flat on the fourth and decide. If you don't want to know me anymore at that point then finish me off, <em>smite me</em>, whatever you like, because I for one could never bear having to live without you."</p><p>And on that note, he was gone. Gone, just from that space in the antiquariat, really, but it felt as if he had been completely erased from all existence. He had gone, and so had half of the tension. But the remaining bit was still there, right enough. And was it not withdrawn soon enough, it was going to riot.</p><p>Yes, <em>that</em> was the real storm of Eden.</p><p>
                     <strong>__________________</strong>
</p><p>One's consciousness is quite oft vaguely linked to the events that had occurred the latest in one's existence. To acquire a better picture, let's broadly imagine a child receiving its daily portion of alimentation. It is common of young children to put a firm line between liking and disliking various tastes at an early age, without seeing anything in between nor believing those could start to differ as time goes by. A common saying is that children do not have fancy towards broccolis, meaning only half a percent of infants in the human patriarchy might actually acquire liking towards the tiny, green trees at a young age. The remaining ninety-nine and a half percent, however, will doubtlessly be twice more likely to find themselves in a rather unpleasant mood after having been forced to consume at least one of those. Whilst the previously mentioned ninety-nine and half a percent may happen to indulge in sweet aliments, the remaining half may dislike them, therefore obtaining their dose of a bad mood after having eaten them. </p><p>
  <em>Onwards goes the wheel.</em>
</p><p>Having had a rather serious tiff with his one and only best friend, Aziraphale had decided those were <em>anything</em> but his favoured flavours. He wished he'd had the possibility to tell Crowley entirely differently morphed words, instead of telling the demon off, to elaborate a plan. But what was there against the most powerful sources in existence? What kind of lucky trick could be pulled off to dumbfool the entire of Heaven and Hell once again? Would there ever be a potential open door leading straight out of this situation that had now started appearing as a genuine point of no return?</p><p>Forthwith did the angel's mind automatically deny the incoming doubt. He mustn't, he'd told himself, permit himself to lose hope in the potential better, and being as steadfast as he was, he'd assured his heart and soul that he wouldn't let any outwardly negative events devoid him of the faith he had in his demon counterpart. He did, however, grant himself the admittance to sit himself down, take a deep breath and relax his rather tense muscles. His hand travelled upwards to set itself before his tired face, prompting the angel to look at it. Its owner stretched his fingers one by one, briefly catching every move, every fold, vaguely aware of how he'd let his thoughts drift off into the void of his own despair. </p><p>Whereas wanting to see Crowley everyday, more than they'd ever done so, he was painfully aware they couldn't, especially now that he'd started resenting the painful heavenly presence sending tingles down his back again. </p><p>
  <em>And thus had the days passed by.</em>
</p><p>The first day had been rather gloomy, much to Aziraphale's dismay. The clouds had gathered on the Londonian sky, as per usual, yet there was no doubt something rather sketchy was up, happening at this very precise moment. The angel had nonetheless prepared himself his usual cocoa[6] before his attention broadly drifted off to one of the books he'd acquired after the world had been restored. He'd seized on his latex gloves and tiny, round glasses, taken each and next book in his hands, gingerly, and had opened each with equal precaution. And then he had read, and perhaps that's where and when the despair made its appearance, because whereas being respectfully himself with his unusual capabilities, never had he read such a copious amount of books in a singular day.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[6]A recipe of his own invention - he'd always been rather proud of it -, requiring the capability of mixing and twirling the chocolate mixture until it attains the consistency of creamy honey and the possession just a few of the finest marshmallows or - if those were nowhere to be found - the ones from the nearest Lidl, a recipe constructed somewhere through the nineteenth century, one that had happened to be of the liking of the current higher human authorities and that had, with the help of a rather inexperienced barista, nearly blown up the North Wing of the Versailles Palace during a diplomatic monarchy reunion. Further details regarding the story, however, are of utmost secrecy and embarrassment and therefore must remain untold until the world is to end and beyond time itself. Cocoa recipes, the angel had decided that particular day, were far too dangerous to be handled by humans.</p>
</blockquote>On the second day, a convenience store near the bookshop had been inconveniently robbed of toilet paper. It wasn't much of an event, the angel had told himself, considering how the Apocalypse itself had got averted not long ago, yet apparently the humans had lately considered the white material rolls as objects of gradually decreasing sufficiency, therefore causing them to become one of the things they appeared to desperately require in their lives. The matter had indeed been highly ranked by governmental agencies, if one was to remind oneself of the many adverts it created in the local newspapers. That very day the angel decided not to risk a foot out as rain was threatening to pour down in cubic feet from those dangerously dark clouds at any given moment.<p>The third day had proven one thing and one only; the stars had been robbed from the sky at some point. The night before had been fairly starry, yet the one right after- not quite so. Skies <em>had</em> indeed shone with godly light, as proper, but they'd missed those tiny yet furiously important candles attached to the their selves each time the dark settled over the human whiff of the universe. That day Aziraphale had been the only being to wonder whether the situation was, in fact, a sight, or a sole hallucination due to his mind having made him delusional with ever so light sorrow. He'd ended up coming to the conclusion that it might or might not have been just a little bit of both interflown with equal pain and loneliness that was someone else's. <em>Oh</em>, just how much did the angel sometimes not like knowing.</p><p>And then, eventually, the promised fourth day had no choice but to beworth.</p><p>
                   <strong>__________________</strong>
</p><p>One part of his and Aziraphale's companionship Crowley did not know about was the mere yet deviously important fact that the angel could sense his companion's presence. It wasn't namely for when the demon was nearby, however, for his physical, internal and metaphysical state had the greatest impact on how strong the waves he emitted were. When worried despite no clear admittance or when angry, the waves would be sharp, hot and imposing. When hurt, if not completely discorporated, they would gradually grow weaker with every passing instant. And if absolutely endeared by whatever was most cherished by him - just as currently - ah, there wouldn't be anything else present in the air.</p><p>As the world was being created and creatures were sent down to guard it, angels of all sorts acquired the possibility of a brief customization of different corporeal and metaphysical aspects. For the instance, they'd been given the possibility to choose their own designs as to how they were to resent and perceive certain things. Things that weren't corporeal, no, those that a human eye cannot spot, those only a heart can feel. Aziraphale, as the only of his kind that appeared to care for more than just orders, was rather ravished to be given a choice. And whereas angels were created to obey, not attain a point of free will, he'd made himself capable of changing it through centuries. For example, he'd settled things nicely for his soul to resent whilst the most peaceful moments in history took place, granted suchlike existed, but, during the Reign of Terror, he'd permitted his ears to hear the fall of the guillotine blade whenever serious trouble occurred in his or Crowley's whereabouts. <em>That</em> mess-regarding unpleasantnesses caused him to highly dislike the era of the Black Death epidemic, during which he'd made himself resent the disease itself inside of his corporation when something worrying was beworthing, to alarm him, to set his red light on, for, as an angel, he couldn't get or transport illnesses and suchlike.</p><p>In the modern times of the world, however, he'd decided to change the settings to something more peaceful yet more powerful and regarding a vast territory. This decision had resulted in him receiving signals resembling those emitted by a radio every once in a hurt or agitated snake demon. Hereby no pain, action or emotion inflicted to his best of friends could go unnoticed in the many eyes of the angel's soul.</p><p>Thus was it natural of the angel to appear rather worried when, on the fourth day, he felt none.</p><p>He'd been storming to the demon's flat for the past few minutes and, if he were to be honest, he was far more than worried. Anxious. Distressed. Ill at ease. Drastically fretful. Apprehensive. Overwrought. Practically like <em>a cat on a hot tin roof.</em> Surely there was no reason for all this fretting, surely all was good, or at least all was going to be well once Aziraphale updates his demon on his decision. He'd thought a good deal about it and was ready as ever to take the required measures in order to attain his goal.</p><p>Throughout the three days that had flown by his angelic mind has materialised every possible outcome of numerous actions leading to a potential way out of the rather unfortunate situation. It had even vaguely debated some rather unkind possibilities[7], forthwith discorporating them upon deciding there were ways out that could be ascribed a better and more peaceful outcome. And in the end, in the very last hours of the third day, he had made the decision to come back. To return to the demon and fight, fight for him, fight for them if that was the last thing he ever did, because that, to him, was a grand honour. If he was to be destroyed, if he was to be destroyed <em>instead</em> of Crowley, then he wished to end this by his friend's side.[8]</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[7]Some of those, such as having a rude and firm conversation with these who caused this clutter or rather inconveniently interrupting their every step at work until they break, weren't fundamentally bad, but simply surpassed the angel's limits regarding morals and kindness. Others, however, contacting the Almighty, dragging the Head Authorities all the way down to Hell or quite accidentally discorporating any of them in lead starring roles, were downright demonic ideas which, as the angel decided, didn't even bear thinking.</p>
</blockquote><blockquote>
  <p>[8]There wouldn't be any sushi or crêpes either way. This inconvenience was bearable as long as Crowley was there.</p>
</blockquote><em>Oh. The demon's energy was radiating again. But, bugger, it was strong now.</em><p>Thus, he'd also taken the decision of explaining to Crowley, at length, all the ways Heaven had used to threaten him. To threaten both of them, granted.</p><p>He knew he could request a quick time stop miracle from the demon, a sole darting snap, it would be marked in Hell's records, after all, and therefore Heaven wouldn't be made aware he'd been consorting with the one he'd been forbidden to ever encounter again. They could use some gaps in time's flow to invest in a plan, perhaps they could join their forces once again or, at least, Aziraphale hoped he could explain to Crowley what his side of the misunderstanding looked like.</p><p>And perhaps the demon knew something of his own, too? Perhaps this contradicting hadn't the sole purpose of <em>fun</em> and <em>temptation</em>? It was probable, Aziraphale told himself as he walked through the dark corridors, that this was a double sided argument with feverishly reciprocated worry and care towards the other. Deep down, he wished it was reciprocated and perhaps not too bad at all but on the outside, his sole hope was the possibility of seeing his companion at this very moment. </p><p>His fingers brushed the rough doorknob and gently tugged at it, instantaneously pushing the grand door open. Cautiously, as if fearing an ambush at any step, he entered the demon's domain. The inside was as dark as Crowley claimed his soul was, occasional light beams trespassing inside due to just a few uncovered windows. The air was cool and unusually pleasing, especially since the outside was colder than the North Pole and Siberia during winter combined, perhaps there were even those ever so slight waves of wind coming from nowhere to be seen. And the scent of freshness and life in the air, oh, alike to those encountered in the purest forests in the country, those that are the most taken care of and welcome the cleanest of tourists. It was renouveling, truly, like a touch of Holy Water did to an angel. </p><p>Only then did the angel's mind seem to catch up with how the entrance to the apartment had been open, devoiding him of the must to do as much. <em>Open</em>, it was <em>open</em>. Deliberately open.</p><p>At this point Aziraphale was persuaded he was legally permitted to resent waves of grave worry. He hadn't been to the demon's domain many times, yet he was certain none would leave their homeplace open to utter strangers, deliberately giving them the possibility to enter their personal den. <em>Something</em> was wrong, whatever it was and, much to the angel's disliking, it <em>stunk</em>.</p><p>Wrinkling his nose at the scent he took a long and attentive glance at his surroundings. Everything was aesthetically arranged, no dust lingering anywhere to be seen, causing the place itself to look rather blunt. The light was gloom and petite anywhere the angel looked and whereas it wasn't anywhere near appalling to the eye, it did make the ethereal being resent a slight wave of a rather unsettling feeling to which a proper name could not be instantaneously given. And, he told his now overwrought self, he did not like it the slightest.</p><p>What with having moved a tad further inside of the humbly spacious apartment, he managed to finally perceive something vaguely resembling a sign of life. Aziraphale made his choice and walked towards the source of it. What the angel found both curious and threatening at once was how he could perceive life despite being statistically incapable of sensing it. His millions of angelic eyes could spot waves of unnatural light incoming from the door just to his right, but he missed feeling the absolutely thrilling tingle of warmth coming in a pack with a sign of a living being. He could seem to, however, feel a rather peculiar lifeline, somewhere in the distance.</p><p>
  <em>But it wasn't Crowley's.</em>
</p><p>It wasn't the demon's, surely there must be a mistake somewhere in the system! Perhaps Heaven is updating their database, he reassured himself, and so is Hell, producing a rather inconvenient gap in network working. That is all, he was sure he was going to feel it soon enough, and he was going to see the demon there, and that will be a blessing to see him again because, despite any beliefs, he had grown quite fond of the devilish being, and he <em>did</em>, in fact, miss him, and--</p><p>At last did he surface in the doorstep of the demon's office-like room. A few steps were taken in the way directing one inside.</p><p>And then he <em>saw</em>. <em>Oh- oh dear Lord above.</em></p><p>It was Crowley. No, it <em>had been</em> Crowley <em>once</em>. It had been a grumpy and devilish yet perfectly tolerable demon and, as the angel figured through centuries, one tending to express kindness to that one particular angel in his own, unique way before promptly denying it, just the previous day. What it was now was exactly what was left on the ground as Ligur got destroyed. A puddle of a usually sparkly but now rather gray liquid messily spluttered around, some splashes reaching the nearest corners of the room, a pile of clothing, sickeningly neatly folded material clothes that used to be worn by the demon in the precise middle of the puddle just as if someone had decided to make a quite cruel joke and rip one's heart out of their ribcage through proving the sick situation had been <em>intentional</em>, and a red bucket[9], lying loose next to the horrendous crime scene at such a perfect angle from the top side of the entrance door, prompting the way it had been committed.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[9]Only God Herself knew which bucket exactly it had been and had she made Aziraphale fathom its meaning, things might have been much worse- if such an inconvenience was naturally possible.</p>
</blockquote><em>Murder, immoral murder by Holy Water committed on his best friend.</em><p>Backgrounded by long, gray walls decorated with tiny, shining lights, those that looked almost like stars stolen straight from the night sky, multicoloured light beams trailing down the dark surface and hitting the ground with soundless symphonies, the passage up the richly detailed desk and the extremely and precisely carved golden throne, the scene looked almost obscene. It appeared poetic with a dose of melancholy to the naked eye, resembling the worst scenes from Shakespeare's gloomiest plays, and absolutely distressing to the poor soul standing paralyzed in the entrance. His snow-pale eyes were darting from side to side, once quickly, in a hurry, once slowly, with frozen disbelief, and his mouth couldn't restrain from uttering a weak, choking gasp.</p><p>And then he fell.[10]</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[10]The idea of falling is the most terrifying perspective in a regular angel's life - and it was no different in Aziraphale's - therefore it is strictly forbidden in Heaven's estate to joke about or even, if one is unlucky enough to be graced with the presence of the holier-than-thou CEO, the archangel Gabriel, mention it. Falling, in the current case, held its roots in the angel's emotions and resulted in him dropping down to his knees in pain.</p>
</blockquote>He felt like he had already, deep down, fallen to the darkest pit of his sorrowful feelings. All of those threatening to explode and destroy his sanity to bits, to scatter those pieces like that one annoying puzzle one can never seem to get all right. And that one particularly devilish piece would be lost somewhere in the void to never be found ever again, and the angel could feel all those feelings threatening to spill in cubic feet to the ground just like his salty tears had started doing. It was horrible, at best, and he asked himself, could it be any worse? Could existence have punished him any worse than that? Would he - an angel of the Almighty Lord - prefer Falling to such a disastrous tragedy losing the one creature he cared about and, as he admitted with guilt, loved the most in the universe and beyond was?<p>"C-<em>Crowley…</em>" he managed to choke out, using his vigorously trembling, no, shaking hands to gather the clothes from the ground. His hands then raised the materials with precaution, as if they were the most precious artefacts in the world, the only ones left after his friend, and held them here, the strength of the shaking causing them to appear as if jumping lightly or riding a rather agitated horse. The tie, - it annoyed the angel at times, Heaven knows why - his fingers traced over it. The shirt, vest and those annoying tight trousers, - how could the demon even bear wearing those - his hands gripped them tightly, unwilling to let go, those last remaining bits of the one they used to be worn by. They even <em>smelled</em> like their past owner, the angel permitted himself to say, and that was just a horrible feeling, and it did cause more tears to fall, after all.</p><p>'<em>Let's make a deal, then…</em>' the demon's words started resonating in his pained mind, '<em>...finish me off, smite me, whatever you like…</em>' he had spoken with an unusually shaky voice[11], one that had almost caused the angel's heart to loop on his ribcage and oh, how could he have been foolish enough to believe the Aziraphale would have ever done any move towards hurting or harming him in any way?, '<em>...I for one could never bear having to live without you!</em>' that had made the angel's heart flutter. It shouldn't have had, yet there was no denying it. However, Crowley on his normal senses would have never admitted devotion to any kind of affection, therefore something must have prompted such a revelation, and--</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[11]Well, unusually if one was to take into consideration the fact that Crowley had been, in fact, Crowley.</p>
</blockquote>He screamed; <em>had the demon known from the very beginning?</em><p>Crowley couldn't have, of course, known, Heaven wouldn't have told him. Even heavenly authorities were sophisticated and smart enough not to come running to their chosen victim, telling them they're about to take away their life. Well, in formality, Heaven didn't <em>take victims</em> over all. But if he had said it, oh, why had he? Had he been planning something of his own making and Upstairs' doing was just conveniently compliant to his idea?</p><p>Aziraphale's hand blindly travelled over the wet ground before him. His pained eyes shot open and darted to the right upon resenting a scrap of paper under his soft fingers. The material rose forthwith being gently grabbed and raised up to rest before those big, ocean blue eyes. One pull straightened it until proper to be sighted.</p><p>'<em>Proposal plan - or whatever it is humans call it when you put a ring on someone's finger for Satan knows what reason, why can't just tell him I don't hate him - for <s>my</s> angel</em>,' it read. The angel trembled. Was that anticipation or fear of what he was about to witness?</p><p>
  <em>'1. Decorate the room with tiny lights.<br/>
2. Choose a room.<br/>
3. Wait what.<br/>
4. Steal the stars from the sky since <s>my</s> angel's eyes are unavailable and usually they're the only reliable source of light.<br/>
5. Smack Gabriel's arse.<br/>
6. Make sure the ring is <span class="u">there</span>.<br/>
7. In the box.<br/>
8. Yeah.<br/>
9. Bless.<br/>
10. Wait no, don't.<br/>
11. Turn the lights off.<br/>
12. Propose.<br/>
13. Wait till <s>my</s> / angel approaches.<br/>
14. Wait no.<br/>
15. Only when he approaches can I propose.<br/>
16. So, propose.<br/>
17. Turn on the lights.<br/>
18. Wait no switch them on before humiliating myself.<br/>
19. Fuck.<br/>
20. Bless, not like that.<br/>
21. Hell won't find us on Alpha Centauri.<br/>
22. Will he say yes? (Choose the bloody correct answer) [no]   *   [of course not]'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh God. Oh dear Lord above.</em>
</p><p>Thus had <em>that</em> been the reason behind Crowley's last words to Aziraphale. That had been it, everything had been carefully prepared, measured, constructed to the finest detail, but it also wasn't overwhelmingly too much. One dared say, it was minimalist. It brought climate to the overall full room, illuminating it with multicoloured hues of colours a human eye and mind couldn't seem to fathom. And the tiny lights, they were the promised stars pulled out straight from the sky, where Alpha Centauri was or, at least, had been. And through those tears, they were salty, perhaps, but everything was blurred and caused the world to resemble a bucket of shining colours and emotions.</p><p>Form shapes nature. And so had it.</p><p>So had it done to Aziraphale who, upon seizing the reason behind the demon's behaviour and contradictions to his arguments during the very last tiff of the rest of their lives, let more burning tears slip[12]. Hell had indeed come to Crowley the other day, and had indeed warned him. They'd bloody <em>warned</em> him and if they knew what Heaven had told the angel, back then, everything appeared even more cruel. And the next second it hit him, that brutal fact, they'd <em>no</em> way out of the situation they had been put in. No matter what potential way they had chosen, either of them would have suffered, namely, one would have fallen to their knees in utter sorrow and pain because of the other having been completely and irreversibly destroyed.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>[12]It was rather ironic for an angel's tears to burn, really.</p>
</blockquote><em>A stinging tear strolled down his cheek.</em><p>His hands subsequently turned into clenched fists and met the ground in a soft <em>thud</em>.</p><p>Then, hands shaking vigorously, he picked up the dark glasses lying on his left. In one swift yet angelically soft and cautious move he pushed them towards his chest, hugging them as if holding on for dear life.</p><p>
  <em>Another tear hit the ground with a light sound.</em>
</p><p>And, in the distance, as if bemoaning his loss, dozens of dark clouds let the rain pour down, droplets hitting the earth in a mourning rhythm and disappearing, lost in the void as quickly as the angel's fragile heart had shattered.</p><p>No day had ever been that gloomy and distressing to the soul.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for giving this story a chance! </p><p>Kudos and comments are very appreciated and so are honest reviews since I am somewhat new to writing for a vaster public.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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